


Waiting for Castro

by Deanna (SweetSorcery)



Category: Mad Men
Genre: 1960s, Angst, Crush, Dom/sub, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, M/M, New York, Slash, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-23
Updated: 2009-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 02:55:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetSorcery/pseuds/Deanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's October 1962, nuclear missiles might rain down at any moment, and Pete just wants to die in Manhattan. But that can wait.</p><p>(Setting: immediately following the season 2 finale "Meditations in an Emergency")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting for Castro

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lyra Sena (lyrasena)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyrasena/gifts).



"Are you going to use that on Fidel, yourself, or the first guy who walks into this office?"

Pete's head snapped around. "Don!" When Don raised his brows, nodding towards the rifle in Pete's hands, he snorted. "Well, I guess it's gonna have to be one of the first two now."

Smirking, Don looked around the room. When he spotted a nearly full bottle of whiskey, he said, "Come over to my office, and bring that with you."

 

* * *

 

"So I told Trudy, 'If I'm going to die, I wanna die in Manhattan.'"

"I know how you feel." Don splashed his second lot of whiskey into his glass and passed the bottle back to Pete.

Pete sat, or rather sprawled, next to Don on the couch, cradling the bottle like a baby. "She said to me, 'I love my parents and they love me. Do you? If you did, you'd wanna be with me.'"

"What did you say to that?" Don asked.

"I said, 'You're right.'"

Don turned that over in his head for a few seconds, then whistled. "You're lucky she didn't give you a black eye for that."

"No. She gave me a kiss." Don looked at him with a raised brow, and he explained, "She didn't get it." When Don snorted, he sighed. "I'd have preferred the black eye. At least I'd have known we were on the same page for once." He inspected his nearly empty glass, put it down on the table beside him, and drank straight from the bottle.

Don emptied his own glass. "Yes, well..."

"I told her I didn't care. And what's more, I didn't even care when I realized I really _didn't_ care. What kind of husband does that make me?"

"An honest one."

Pete snickered. "Somehow, I don't think that's the kind of honesty wives appreciate." He sighed, hugging the bottle to his chest more closely. "I guess you don't have to worry about that kind of thing. You probably have a model marriage, love your wife dearly and never do or say anything to hurt her."

Don's smile slipped off his face. When he didn't comment, Pete glanced at him questioningly. "We're done talking about this," Don said.

Pete nodded and passed him the open bottle, and Don took a big swallow of it. "I have terrible luck with women, did you know that? If I love them, they hate me. If I... don't like them, they love me. You know what I wish, Don?" Don shook his head. "I wish women were like us."

Don chuckled. He passed the whiskey back to Pete. "And then what?"

"Then..." Pete tucked his left leg under himself and settled on the sofa sideways to look at Don properly. "Then we'd be married to someone for whom we wouldn't have to figure out the code. Or constantly watch what we say or do. I don't know about you, but I'd be a lot happier with a man for a wife."

Don stared at him as if he had two heads. Then he frowned at the bottle, considering it, and then looked back at Pete again, apparently deciding the second head wasn't going to go away, so he gave the bottle back to him. "I'm drunk. I'm going to sleep now." And he dropped his head back against the couch and went out like a light.

Blinking, Pete looked back and forth between Don and the bottle. "Guess you weren't kidding." He set the bottle down on the carpet and tucked his right leg in with his left. Deciding Don's thigh looked more comfortable than the arm rest, he lay down resting his head there and went to sleep at once.

 

* * *

 

Three, maybe four hours, later, Pete was woken up by the siren of a fire truck speeding down Madison Avenue. He wondered why he felt kind of fuzzy, but at least his pillow was comfortable. Trying to fluff it up, his hand ended up somewhere firm and very warm, and it took him a few more seconds to figure out he was snuggling a thigh. He rolled on his back and looked up. The thigh belonged to Don, and his hand definitely didn't belong where it was. "Holy Moses!"

Don's eyes opened slowly and, taking about the same amount of time Pete had taken to become fully conscious, he eventually ended up noticing Pete's face anxiously looking up at him from his lap.

"Er.." Pete started, but then he realized that not only did he not have a decent explanation, but that Don hadn't shoved him to the floor and shot him with his own rifle yet. And if he played his cards right, he might get to stay where he was another minute, or even until his head stopped spinning and he stopped feeling as if he was about to hurl.

"Did the world end yet?" Don asked sleepily.

Pete blinked in confusion. He didn't dare move. "No, I don't think so."

Don nodded approvingly. "You've got a point," he said then, apropos of apparently nothing.

"I do?" Pete figured Don had to still be a lot more drunk than he was. Though that didn't seem likely. He'd seen Don drink enough guys under the table to know better, and all things considered, they hadn't drunk as much as all that. He had a crazy thought that Don was replying to something he'd said before they fell asleep, but he couldn't for the life of him remember what.

Don just kept staring at him, and Pete decided that this was the calm before the storm. He also decided he'd rather take on Castro than Don just after the latter finally figured out Pete's head was in his lap, so he decided to sit up.

That was when Don started running his fingers through his hair.

Pete froze, eyes widening. The stroking fingers threaded through his hair and tucked it behind his ear - which was just odd, but then they slid through it to cradle the back of his head, and that felt really nice.

"I don't think I'm drunk anymore," Don mused.

Pete begged to differ, but he certainly wasn't going to question Don's assessment. "That's good," he agreed instead. He couldn't remember a time when he wouldn't have given anything to get Don's attention. This wasn't the kind of attention he'd had in mind. Or... well, he didn't think it had been. Right then, he wouldn't have sworn to it.

"Campbell," Don slurred. When Pete blinked acknowledgment, hoping it was an okay form of communication as he still didn't want to risk breaking the spell with a sudden movement, Don said, "Come up here."

It took Pete a minute to work out what Don was telling him to do. His brain wasn't working all that well. Only once he put the words together with the expression on Don's face, not to mention the not-quite-drunk-anymore glimmer in his eyes, it was pretty clear what Don was selling. And Pete decided right there and then that he would be buying, and he wasn't planning on haggling over the price.

He pulled himself up by the back of the sofa and leaned in. He had a moment of consternation when he realized Don's breath smelled strongly of whiskey, but then so did his own, he figured, and he felt pretty sober. Was getting more so by the minute.

"I'm not drunk anymore," Don, apparently capable of ESP, repeated his earlier statement.

So Pete angled his head and somewhat awkwardly kissed Don. He should have known, he would decide much later, that Don simply wouldn't put up with awkwardness, no matter the circumstances. But at the time, he was a little shocked when Don took over the kiss by cupping his head in both hands and ravishing his mouth.

Pete flailed, losing his balance, so he shifted his grip from the sofa back to Don's shoulder and waist. He was craning his neck uncomfortably, but he'd worry about the kinks later. Right then, he was busy deciding that yes, this was exactly the kind of attention he wanted from Don - everything he admired about the man, all that confidence and dominance and Devil-may-care way of doing things, all directed at him. Pete was loving it! So much so, he all but went limp when Don's arms tightened around him.

Don tore his mouth away to hiss at him, "Stop being so timid! I thought I'd told you you were ready to take what you want." And, challenge posed, he crushed his mouth down on Pete's even harder.

Not wanting to be or do anything that might make Don stop kissing him, Pete decided to pick up the gauntlet. He pulled himself up by Don's shoulders properly and straddled his lap, not stopping the kiss for a second. Once he was settled in, he started answering the thrusts of Don's tongue in his mouth with back and forth thrusts of his hips.

Don stilled, dropped his head back and stared up into Pete's face. Pete, thinking he'd gone too far, was suddenly all too aware of where he was and didn't move a muscle. But Don must have decided he approved, because he smirked at him and gripped his buttocks in both hands before resuming the kiss.

Pete, quite proud of himself that he'd managed to do something Don approved of, started rocking back and forth on Don's lap in sync with the motions of their tongues in each other's mouths. He dimly thought that to feel another man's erection straining against his own should feel weird, but he couldn't seem to care. It was Don. It was perfect.

As if to indicate agreement, Don's hands tightened on his arse and pulled him forward hard. His groan went right to Pete's cock. And Pete dared to start teasing then, parting his lips and keeping his upper body back far enough so their kissing was open-mouthed, only their tongue tips making contact and occasionally licking at parted lips.

Don clearly didn't have the patience for teasing. With such speed that Pete barely knew how it had happened, he tipped them both to the side, pressing Pete down into the couch and stretching out between his legs.

Pete growled, and Don gripped his wrists and pinned them to the sofa above Pete's head. "Is there a problem?"

Pete shivered. "Not at all, Don," he gasped.

Smirking, Don adjusted his grip to keep both of Pete's wrists down with one hand - it wasn't as if Pete had any intention of resisting - and used his free hand to pull at Pete's tie until he got it open. He flung it carelessly across the office to go to work on the neat row of tiny buttons, but he got fed up and tore the shirt open, sending several of them clattering to the floor. When he reached nearly bare skin - Pete was wearing a singlet - he reached down to work on Pete's belt and zip.

Pete was panting hard, forced to just watch wide-eyed and let it all happen. He focussed on the single lock of hair which had fallen across Don's forehead, and the glint in his eyes as he worked at getting his hand inside his pants, and prayed he wouldn't come before Don had even touched his--

"Are you going to help or just lie there?" Don growled.

Pete strained his arms a little to remind Don he was holding him pinned, and Don chuckled, releasing one of Pete's hands so it could get to work on his shirt and trousers. Pete did his best, he really did, but the most he could manage with Don's tie was to loosen it until it dangled between them. So he tried his luck with Don's shirt, and did better there with one hand, getting all the buttons undone. He pulled it from Don's waistband and pushed it off his shoulders and halfway down his arms. While Don shrugged it off his right arm so it wouldn't restrict the movement of his hand, Pete worked open Don't trousers, wincing when the buckle hit the warm skin over his now exposed hipbone.

But then he stopped caring about details, because Don's hand was gripping him hard, and he shoved at Don's trousers to get them down past his hips, just far enough so they could--

"Shit, Campbell!" Don groaned, trying to stroke them both at once but then just lining them up and pinning Pete's wrists again. And then he started thrusting against him.

Pete thrust back. His arms were around Don's bare waist, his fingers digging into Don's back, and he stared open-mouthed at Don; he was concentrating on the way the muscles were working in his jaw, but when that did nothing to keep him from the edge, he inhaled deeply, trying to figure out what brand of aftershave Don wore. That was worse, because Don smelled terrific, so he focussed on Don's eyes. And that was a really bad idea, because Don met his eyes and held them as if it was a challenge. Pete could feel himself getting close _fast_. "Say something silly," he pleaded. "Anything."

Don laughed huskily, gyrating his hips a little with the next thrust, which felt just that much better now that there was more slickness to keep things smooth. "You have pretty eyes, Pete."

Pete stared at him, wide-eyed, even as he cried out and came.

Don rocked against him once, twice more, but then he too couldn't hold back anymore. When Pete craned his neck to reach Don's mouth with his own, Don kissed him deep and hard while they were both riding out their highs. The kiss got sloppy and started trickling down Pete's jaw and neck as Don sank down on him, exhausted, not caring that his entire weight was on Pete.

And Pete didn't much care, either. He was panting, smiling, and playing with the damp curl on Don's forehead even as Don started snoring softly, his head resting in the crook of Pete's neck and his breath hot on his skin.

It was still night outside and sunrise was far off. Pete looked towards the window and, figuring he was speaking vaguely in the direction of Cuba, he murmured, "Now would be okay."

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Hello dear recipient. You wanted anything in this fandom about any characters we/I have been dying to write. This is what happened. *blush* I sincerely hope you enjoy reading this overgrown treat as much as I enjoyed writing it. Have a lovely holiday season and a happy new year!


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